


All the Dirty Parts

by 13thDoctor



Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor
Summary: Hernan would never complain about freedom. When he was alone in his bed, though, he discovered just how much there was to miss. He made a list in his head with each passing night.





	All the Dirty Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Both the title and plot are inspired by the book 'All the Dirty Parts' by Daniel Handler.  
> My first Shadyche! I love them, they break my heart, and I want to write about them forever. Crossing my fingers for some more content next season. Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and enjoy!

Hernan would never complain about freedom. He would never take for granted the sunlight on his face, the hum of a car engine, or the suits he could wear after the Seagate uniform had been burnt to ash in an abandoned lot outside his apartment complex.

When he was alone in his bed, though, he discovered just how much there was to miss. He made a list in his head with each passing night.

 

**1\. A change**

Darius and Hernan were eleven. They were in Darius’ backyard, throwing a football back and forth, threatening to tackle one another when the pass was shit. Finally, Hernan threw so badly—he was scrawny back then, gangly limbs and angles—that Darius jumped him. They rolled and rolled, laughing. Eventually, Darius pinned Hernan.

Hernan’s laughter faded until his chest rose and fell without sound. Breathless, he grinned around the air he managed to gulp. Darius bit his own lip and looked down, head tilted. His fingers held Hernan’s wrists tight enough that Hernan would have yelled at anyone else to stop. But Darius wasn’t just anyone.

Then Darius shifted his weight, and what Hernan had thought had been Darius’ knee pressed more persistently into Hernan’s thigh. The boys’ eyes met. Instantly, Darius leapt upwards, backwards, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender and apology. He raced to his back porch, running inside so fast that he almost fell, and ending up in the bathroom, where he locked himself until, dejected and confused, Hernan walked aimlessly around Harlem the rest of the day.

 

**2\. A summer night**

So hot was the night that children and adults alike were breaking open fire hydrants to flood the sizzling streets.  Darius’ mother, sensing that her teenaged son would participate in such foolishness if allowed outdoors, gave a single ultimatum: stay inside or Hernan has to go.

Inside, the faulty AC barely eased the sweltering temperatures. The heat pressed down on them, promising only lethargy and boredom. So Hernan, sliding his newly pilfered sunglasses onto his face, said, “I have an idea.”

They were lying on their backs on the floor of Darius’ room. Their stillness was an offering to the god that was the ceiling fan, whirring precariously above them as it chose who was worthy of its gifts. With a groan, Darius turned his head to peer at Hernan.

Hernan asked, “You ever jerk off?”

Darius smiled, shrugged. They stripped off their pants before their nerves could get the better of them; Darius lunged toward the door and locked it just as Hernan was shimmying out of his briefs. Then, Darius placed a bottle of lotion within their reach.

“Good call.”                            

“Thanks.”

Completely naked, they stretched out on the floor, side-by-side, cautiously maneuvering the perfect distance between them while trying their best not to touch. A knee here, an elbow there, and Hernan’s skin felt like it had been doused in gasoline and Darius was holding the match.

They began together, laughing nervously until the pleasure between their legs beckoned all their concentration. Darius made a noise that curled Hernan’s toes. Hernan closed his eyes and pictured some of the girls in the senior class, all curves and tight jeans. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Imagine Mia’s tight, wet—”

Darius grunted and told Hernan to shut up. They were both grinning. And when Darius’ face was turned away, Hernan looked over, watching Darius’ hands on his own body, on his chest and hips and cock.

Hernan came with a soft, “Oh,” and an orgasm that felt more like being set on fire. Darius came not long after, though he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Hernan blushed. It was hotter than before, and now Hernan was dizzy and sticky and embarrassed, as well.

Darius spoke first. “That was a shit idea, _Shades._ ”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips.

 

**3\. A story**

To say Hernan’s first time was a disaster would be a boldfaced lie. It was clumsy and quick and in the backseat of a car, but he ate her out first and she screamed his name, so he knew he had done fucking _great_.

He was sixteen years old, a little drunk, stealing to survive, and climbing through Darius Jones’ window at 4 AM on a Saturday morning.

Darius sat up but didn’t freak out. Hernan knew Darius knew the only person falling onto his floor this early would be his best friend. Darius barely reacted after the first dozen times. That night, he murmured, “Hey,” and then moved over so Hernan could crawl into the bed.

They were old enough to understand boys their age sleeping in a bed together didn’t look good to outsiders. They were close enough not to care. Hernan shoved his chin between his head and shoulder and said, “Dare, listen.”

“Mmm.”

“I did it.” Pride burst sweet and sharp in his chest. He threw himself onto his back and punched the air in a tipsy victory dance. He faced Darius again and saw him staring. “What? _¿Tienes celos?_ ” he jeered.

“I’m tired,” Darius answered. He sighed, sat up against the headboard. “Alright, tell me.”

Hernan maintained for years after that it was his ego that caused him to offer every detail, but the alcohol that caused the rest.

“I got her under me,” he murmured, dragging Darius beneath him, “and lifted her dress…” He slid his palm over Darius’ thigh like he was pulling fabric. Darius’ leg twitched. Hernan continued, inhaling and still smelling the girl’s perfume. “Then I licked her wide open, man, I swear she tasted like strawberries… She was so soft… Not like you, Dare, don’t look so offended.” His hand was on Darius’ thick chest—football team building him in a way that made bitches drool. “I pushed her knees and she spread out, she was so ready.” He straddled Darius without looking at his face. “It was tight and wet and everything they tell you it’s gonna be, right? And the way she _whimpered,_ shit. I fucking buried myself inside her and I could’ve stayed there forever.”

“Sounds dope,” Darius said, voice scratchy.

Hernan moved his hips, pressing down slowly, and smiled with his tongue between his teeth. Darius was hard. Hernan said, “She told me to wear the sunglasses.”

Darius’ laugh turned into a moan as Hernan grinded down on him. He figured he was crossing some sort of line, should probably get away and let Darius get himself off. So he listened to that voice of reason and rolled away.

“Hey, Shades? Fuck off so I can fix this.”

Hernan nodded, stood, and wobbled back to the window.

 

**4\. A stolen DVD**

Troy heard from Al, who heard from Jamal, who heard from Ramone, who heard from Manuel, that Hernan had robbed a pawn shop and run off with a whole library of porno. Some people said he went in with two machine guns. Others said he just wore those sunglasses and some swag and the poor shopkeeper simply handed over the goods. Hernan thought either version of the story was badass enough that he didn’t need to correct them.

It didn’t matter much how Hernan had gotten the DVD, only that he had it, and he and Darius were in Darius’ neighbor’s basement, a basement below a house they were meant to watch as a side job while the family was away on vacation. The family was the talk of the neighborhood because they had a whole home video set up in that very basement.

They were seniors in high school, sitting on opposite ends of a family-sized couch, flies unzipped, briefs and pants around their ankles, watching some chick get her backdoor kicked in when a third person walked onscreen. The plot was flimsy, the storyline absurd to follow, but Hernan’s eyes were wide and his chest was tight as the second guy walked up behind the first.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Hernan squeaked out.

“You want me to turn it off?” Darius’ hooded eyes and swollen lips tugged at something deeply buried in Hernan.

“…No.”

Hernan’s attention scrambled back to the screen when one of the men moaned, deep and throaty. The camera zoomed in on the biggest dick Hernan had ever seen slamming into another man’s ass, then out to the three of them, gripping at each other’s skin, sliding, fucking like wild animals. Hernan came harder than he had in his life.

 

**5\. A decision**

“I’m so fucking horny, man.”

It was their third week in Seagate together and Hernan was losing his mind. He already had enough power that no one even dared to consider him a target, and he could also have anyone he wanted. But the thought of forcing some guy into what he knew went down in these cells made Hernan sick. He was sick of celibacy, though.

“Me, too, B.” Darius—Comanche now—spoke from the bottom bunk. They were both wide awake long after lights out. Hernan heard him shift, heard him get up and pace their grey floor. After a few laps, he paused, huffed, and climbed up to Hernan’s bunk. “Hernan, we should be smart about this.”

“No shit. I don’t trust these assholes. I don’t—”

Comanche made a frustrated sound and then started undressing. Hernan’s hands worked faster than his brain, but by the time it caught up, he was ripping off his own uniform, scratching blunt nails down Comanche’s rock-solid abs. Nothing felt wrong or sick about sucking a bruise into Che’s neck or clambering on top of him. Heart racing, Hernan pressed his fingers over Comanche’s lips.

Che grabbed Hernan’s wrist and sucked on three fingers, his tongue lapping at callouses he had watched Hernan earn in fights. Still holding Hernan’s wrist, he pulled his hand out and pushed it as far as he could down his body. He pulled his knees to his chest. With his pupils blown and his body shaking, he was one of the most beautiful things Hernan had ever seen.

He didn’t even hesitate to press into him, twisting his fingers to see what would unravel Che faster. When Che’s back arched, Hernan lined himself up, hands on Comanche’s hips, Comanche’s ankles crossed and his heels came bearing down on Hernan’s tailbone.

“You sure about this?” Hernan looked into Comanche’s eyes. His best friend. His partner. His world.

“Yes.”

Comanche barely finished the word before Hernan rocked forward, breaking right past the initial resistance with all the effort he could muster. Comanche moaned. He curled his hands over Hernan’s shoulders, tightened his legs. Hernan thrusted harder and faster as he’d been directed, a wide grin on his face that only turned to a frown when he saw the tears on Che’s face.

He stopped immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

Comanche’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Don’t stop,” he begged. “Hernan, fuck, you feel so good.”

Hernan caught his hand and laced their fingers together. “Don’t apologize,” he demanded in turn.

It had been long enough that his rhythm was a little sloppy, his technique a little rusty, but Che took all Hernan could give him and then some, letting him come inside him and  promising a hand was enough to finish himself. They laid boneless in their own mess until a chill crept in, and then they cleaned off using Hernan’s sheets and went to sleep, Hernan wrapping himself in Comanche’s arms, on Che’s bunk.

He was almost asleep, and motionless enough that Che must have thought he was, when Che whispered, “I’ve always been sure about you.”

 

**6\. A new intimacy**

“Fuck, why is this so hard?”

“Why aren’t _you_ hard?” Che asked, laughing.

Hernan laughed, too, rubbing his hands over his face while Che curled a hand between his legs. Every bit of skin Che touched felt like it had been struck by lightning. “I’m trying,” he groaned, rutting desperately into the sheets. “You wanna help me out?”

Comanche dragged slick fingers down Hernan’s spine, and then repaved that trail with his tongue. He was on his knees above Hernan, accommodating their small bunk and stretching his arms up to hold Hernan down while he licked him open.

“Yeah, that--” Hernan gasped around most of his words. “That’s helping,” he moaned, turning his face into the mattress, grasping at the sheets. He choked back a scream when he felt Che smile.

Che pulled away, and Hernan immediately missed that warmth. He did _not_ whimper--at least, he would never admit what sound he made--while he waited for Che to line himself up. It was their first time trying this, and Hernan’s heart beat out an equally anxious and enthusiastic rhythm.

“This is gonna hurt.”

Hernan twisted, using his elbow as leverage and craning his neck around to speak over his own shoulder. “I’m not your fucking prom date, Che, I can handle-- _¡_ _puta madre!_ ” He collapsed back onto his stomach, but Comanche grabbed his chin and kissed him through the pain, swallowing down every curse and hiss and sigh.

He worked his way inside slowly. His lips on Hernan’s were just as gentle; they’d never kissed before, and the care he took was interlaced with hesitation, uncertainty. “Is this okay?” he asked. The question rested on the corner of Hernan’s mouth. Che was holding his breath.

Hernan answered _yes_ with the reverence of a prayer.

 

**7\. A glance**

The showers were the worst place in Seagate for many reasons. Malicious inmates and apathetic guards strung threats at the entrance like a noose. It was always there, daring someone to slip, to step out of line, to look the wrong way. Rackham assured Shades and Comanche they were safe, but everyone knew how fast Rackham could turn on a guy.

Selfishly, Hernan thought one of the worst parts of the shower was that he couldn’t touch Che.

Comanche sauntered in there like he owned the place. He was fucking jacked, his time in the yard adding to the years of football. The smaller men always scattered when they saw Comanche. The new ones feared assault. The old ones feared they were next for a fight. Hernan feared he’d never find out how it felt to get fucked by that enormous dick under the water. The thought colored his cheeks bright red and he ducked his head to hide it.

Comanche stepped under the lukewarm spray, muscles rippling. Hernan stepped in right beside him. Che rolled his shoulders, let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. The other guys kept their heads down. Hernan did his best to keep his erection down.

“Cut it out, Che.”

He smiled to the side and stepped wide. “Do something ‘bout it.”

Hernan turned his water ice-cold, finished washing, and threw a towel around his waist. He took another towel, wrapped it tightly, and slapped Che’s ass with it. The sound was as sharp and loud as gunshot.

A harsh silence fell upon the area. Comanche spun so fast Hernan was afraid he’d fall. “Everybody out!” he bellowed, and the other inmates scattered as if their lives depended on it. The guards came in, guns drawn, and saw Che and Hernan squared off, breathing hard. “Give us half an hour,” Che told them, his eyes never leaving Hernan’s. The guards nodded, holstered their weapons, and marched off, relaying the command through radios to the guards on the next rotation. Comanche and Hernan would have this time alone or there would be hell to pay.

“You gonna fuck me, Che?”

“Depends. You gonna keep standing over there?”

Hernan laughed, brushing his hand under his chin, and then walked past Che, banging their shoulders together on his way back to the showerhead. Hernan turned on the water. He pressed his palms flat on the wall.

“You’re an idiot,” Che said once he stood behind him, chin on Hernan’s shoulder, hands on his ribs. “You should have waited ‘til we got back to the block.”

“I couldn’t wait.” Hernan spread his legs and hung his head. Comanche kissed his shoulders, his neck. His teeth were still in Hernan’s collarbone when he thrust into him.

They made every goddamn minute count.

 

**8\. A test**

In a move Rackham thought was some sort of joke, Shades and Comanche got library duty together to reshelf books. Seagate boasted a pretty impressive collection, one refurbished by inmates themselves and funded by an organization in Georgia. Since the library was so important to so many guys, Che and Hernan took the job seriously. Mostly.

Comanche was on break, reading Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ , when Hernan clapped a hand over his mouth. Che cussed him out despite his words being so muffled but fell silent when Hernan pressed a single finger to his own lips.

“I have an idea,” he whispered.

“You know we’re alone, right?” Comanche countered. His eyes were softer than his tone.

They were between shelves, all the way in the back, one of the only corners where the security cameras never quite reached far enough. Hernan dropped to his knees. “Read to me,” he said. Unbuttoning Che’s uniform, he slipped his hand inside and down, inspiring Che to unbutton it enough that it could drop to the floor. His lips turned up into the smirk he knew Che couldn’t resist. “Let’s see if I can distract you.”

“You know you can,” Comanche hissed as Hernan nuzzled the inside of his thigh, breath ghosting across his skin. His hips jerked forward.

Hernan licked the length of his cock, still smirking. “I’m waiting,” he murmured.

Che started on page one, voice steady. They were words he usually read to lull Hernan to sleep, and instead Hernan was using them as a countdown. Around the bottom of the page, Hernan hummed around Che’s cock. Che almost dropped the book on Hernan’s head.

So Hernan grazed his teeth across the tip. Comanche’s grip on _The Prince_ was white-knuckled. After page two, he tossed it to the floor and grabbed Hernan’s shaved head and held him there. Hernan shoved Che’s ass forward with his free hand. Taking the initiative, Che thrust forward, grunting, palm slamming into the wall to his right.

Hernan swallowed when Che came. He stood and Che placed his hands on either side of Hernan’s face, yanked him forward, and kissed him. Hernan didn’t think—couldn’t think; he just opened his mouth and kissed back.

 

**9\. The way it felt**

Hernan missed the way it felt to press his forehead into the back of Comanche’s neck after he’d just come, riding the aftershocks, tasting the sweat between his shoulder blades.

He missed those hands, that mouth, the way both could undo him and repair him alike.

He missed the laughter that accompanied each new position or proposition. The dichotomy of keeping their relationship a secret while always broadcasting that they belonged only to each other. How quickly clothes came off when the lights went down.

Hernan missed the way it felt to be held and loved and fucked, how it felt to hold and to love and to fuck. He ached for everything Darius had ever give him.

So he enjoyed what freedom he had, and he made his list.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever feel inclined to reach out, you can find me at daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com!


End file.
